


interlude

by scrapbullet



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Companionable Snark, Developing Friendships, Ficlet, Gen, Not Beta Read, Post-Season/Series 01, set during the six month road trip we didn't get to see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “How do you cope with this? The calm after the storm?”Flicking ash into a mug Marcus shrugs, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Exhaustion is bone-deep and sleep comes quickly… until it doesn’t. Say a prayer, Father, and if that doesn’t work a little brandy’ll do the trick.”





	interlude

It’s strange how the smell of clove cigarettes and stale coffee becomes a comfort. Associations form quickly, and soon the tense muscles in Tomas’ shoulders ease whenever Marcus lights up, the spicy smoke and soothing crackle lending an almost otherworldly quality to the ground-in dirt of unloved motel rooms. That, and cheap coffee from greasy diners is what frequently sends Tomas off to restless sleep after a long day of travel. The mattress is too soft and the springs dig into his back, but it matters not - Marcus a steady, stoic presence, smoking by the open window and sketching broken branches.

Tonight, though, Tomas can’t sleep. His mind is a cacophony of noise, and not even the soft hush of charcoal on paper is enough to quieten his mind. The sheets cling to his bare legs as he rolls over, arm shoved under the pillow to prop his head up - watching Marcus in the dim light. 

Marcus shifts, aware he’s being observed. His smudged fingers rub against a bruise on the sharp jut of his jawbone, torn fingernail catching on wiry hair. “Restless?” He asks, and the gruff timbre of his voice belies the vocal strain of the last few weeks spent speaking, reciting; ritual in the repetition. “Use this time wisely, Tomas, and gather your strength whilst you can.”

“You speak from experience,” Tomas states rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. Dragging himself out of bed takes considerable effort, as is padding the short distance to the kitchenette, settling in beside Marcus at the bistro-style table that has no doubt seen better days. “How do you cope with this? The calm after the storm?”

Flicking ash into a mug Marcus shrugs, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Exhaustion is bone-deep and sleep comes quickly… until it doesn’t. Say a prayer, Father, and if that doesn’t work a little brandy’ll do the trick.”

“And that’s it?” Tomas frowns, sceptical. “There is nothing else to-”

“-Soften the blow?” Marcus interrupts, teeth bared like a shark. “Nah, not unless you want to pick up a warm body to cuddle the night away.” He quirks a brow, the glow from his cigarette catching the mischief in his eyes. “Or something a little more, if you catch my drift.”

Flushing, Tomas slides the make-shift ash tray away from Marcus, swilling the ash and cold coffee within this way and that, breaking the filmy skin of milk on the surface. “And is that what you would do if I were not here? Pick someone up in a bar for a good time?”

“Perhaps.” Quick fingers pluck the mug from Tomas’ grasp. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous,” Marcus retorts, bemused. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The heat in Tomas’ cheeks refuses to abate, and so they sit in tepid silence until the sun peers through the clouds, sustained only by the shared smoke of a cigarette. 

When Tomas finally rests his head, it is to sound of charcoal on paper and the smell of cloves and tobacco.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what I'm doing, but do I ever? Just a little writing exercise to see how I can wrap my brain around these two <3


End file.
